


The Reaper's Death

by ShyGreenFox



Category: Kuroshitsuji | Black Butler
Genre: F/M, Gen, Grim Reaper Society, Grim Reapers, M/M, Memories, Mentions of Suicide, Reapers, Recovered Memories, Stacy Stone
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-01
Updated: 2018-11-01
Packaged: 2019-08-14 08:44:03
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 719
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16489364
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShyGreenFox/pseuds/ShyGreenFox
Summary: She frowned deeply as she wondered - not for the first time - why this was her curse?  It was ingrained in their original sins and laws pertaining to that.  Those that killed themselves were forever indebted to ensuring that souls traveled safely through to the sorting rooms.  Her vision faded as she witnessed yet another repressed memory from her past life, back when blood flowed through her veins and actually had a purpose.~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~Or what happens when a writer sees a character who has a 5 second scene and thinks that's perfect for an Original Character.  Feel free to enjoy her travels through what it means to be a reaper.





	The Reaper's Death

Soft beneath her fingers, his orange fringe flowed through them, curling softly around the tips.  Deep breathing filled the air around her, filling the room with their combined exhale, letting her breath in air that had once been in his lungs.  His head heavy against her chest, the black undercut brushing against her stomach where her shirt had risen in their sleep, still covering her but leaving her stomach exposed.  The small scars that trailed over her lower hips and along her back, faint in the early morning light, but present even now. Present after even thirty years of being dead. She shifted slightly, causing the boy currently using her as a pillow to reach around and grip her hips slightly, unconsciously keeping her close to him once more.  Letting out a sigh as she relaxed back into the soft bed, her brown locks messy and surrounding her head like a halo. Golden eyes looked up to the ceiling, remembering what this day meant. She would receive another memory. She frowned deeply as she wondered - not for the first time - why this was her curse? It was ingrained in their original sins and laws pertaining to that.  Those that killed themselves were forever indebted to ensuring that souls traveled safely through to the sorting rooms. Her vision faded as she witnessed yet another repressed memory from her past life, back when blood flowed through her veins and actually had a purpose.

 

_ The wind blew through the open window, the rain pouring in, sidewards from the direction of the ground.  She sat on the window seat, watching as the green clouds seemed to gather in the distance; dust from the earth starting to reach up to touch the sky.  Sirens called out over the radio, haunting in through the house. Dry tears stained her cheeks as the nine-year-old witness mother nature fighting back the urge to wipe away her family.  She prayed that if anyone was to go, it would be her Daddy. The wind flew around her room, knocking her homework to the floor, papers scattering throughout the child’s room. Stacy felt new tears burn at her eyes, her Daddy’s footsteps rising up the stairs, reaching out one of his large arms, the smell of him stinging her nose with the residue of his drinks covering any scent of his human form.  His hand gripped the back of her shirt, pulling her from the window and where the cloud started to drop from the sky. The wind pulled at her short brown hair, pulling back towards the window, much like it was trying to save her from this man who she called Daddy as he marched her back down, towards the basement stairs. The door shut tight against the protective hand of the clouds, locking her in with her father, the silence of the dark muffling any screams that could have escaped her small person. _

 

The paper slammed down on the desk in front of her, lined up already in order of priority, with a bright red folder showing off the name of some Duncan Brown.  Stacy reached up with her left arm, brushing her fingers through her hair, the brown locks hanging straight down over her face as she rubbed slightly at her temple, the headache there was slowly starting to fade.  She raised her feet, rubbing the back of her right ankle where an itch had settled as she leaned forward in her chair, picking up the first folder and reading through the Reaper notes of how this soul had been lost to some wayward crossroads demon.  She let out a soft sigh of frustration, knowing that she would have to get some other field agent to come with her in order to sort out this mess and hopefully manage to convince the demon to relinquish his hold over the soul… if it was still untouched.  She gathered her bag, placing the folder inside along with some note paper and a new tape for her cassette player. Her red boots, a gift from the most troublesome Reaper for the higher-ups during one of the hardest memories she had last year. Reaching up and adjusting her glasses as she started to head towards the main transport areas, hopefully, her American-accented boy would be free enough to accompany her.


End file.
